strangers
by 2degreesabovefreezing
Summary: So a foreigner, a guitar, and a pessimist meet on a street corner…wait, I forgot the punch line. A slice-of-life tale about the healing power of music, based off the award winning musical Once. Spamano.


STRANGERS

_Act One_

I had just gotten a call from my ex so understandably, I was in a suicidal mood. Picking up the phone and hearing that voice insinuates that my day is going to go horribly.

The air was cold and dry, my hands were jammed into my empty pockets, and I was hungry .I had been shuffling home and cursing all the while for the last fifteen minutes. The bars around this area in Dublin will kick you out pretty early if you start holler'n and scrapping with people who just want to keep their peace. I hate this damn country. I didn't want to be here, I came here once, met my ex, lost all my money, they left, and I was stuck. This whole place is just a big piece of shit.

Even the busker on the corner was a piece of shit. He was tall and ungroomed, his clothes tattered, his guitar case laying open at his feet as he strummed hard on his guitar and shouted out his passionate lyrics. I always saw him when I walked through on my way to the bank or where ever.

"You suck." I called over the noise. He stopped playing. Usually I mind my own but today I was too sore to ignore this minor inconvenience. "Why do you have to play so damn loudly? What time is it?" I checked my wristwatch. "_It's ten at night_. Don't you ever think that you might be waking up the folks around here?"

He smiled as if I hadn't just insulted him. "No, it's fine. Nobody will wake up while I play. In this neighborhood, people are good at sleeping." His words were thickly laced with Spanish influence. "In other neighborhoods…it was not good like this."

"I see you out here every day, why don't you play your loud music then? Why wait until everyone's asleep?"

"When it's day, people want to hear music that they know from…from…" He snapped his fingers for a moment, scrambling for a word that was right on the tip of his tongue. "Radio! People want to hear music that they hear on the radio… music that they _know_."

I took a quick look around. The place was completely desolate and only a few stored still had their lights on. "So these songs are your songs then, yeah?"

"Yeah, I wrote them."

"Why not get a job in a shop? Beats being a nuisance."

"I have a job in a shop."

"Where?"

"Here." He gestured all around. "Stores give me paper and I give the papers to people. I say, _Low prices, good deal_."

"Why do you still do this?"

"Play?"

"Yeah."

"I want to make music. This makes me happy."

"You're not very good at it, it seems." I counted a total of six euro in his up-facing, fabric case. "That's from today?"

"That's what I got. Give me ten cent?"

"What? Now you're a beggar?"

"You listen to my song, ten cent fee."

"Even if I gave you ten cents, you wouldn't have a hell of a lot more than you already do."

"You don't have money?"

"No. No money." I pulled one of my jacket pockets inside-out as evidence.

"You have a job in a shop?"

"Yeah."

"What Shop?"

"Uh…I'm a hoover repair man over on Phibsborough."

"Hoover?"

"Y'know, like a vacuum cleaner." I gripped my hand on an invisible handle and scooted it back and forth.

"You fix vacuum cleaners!?"

"Yeah."

"_I_ have a broken vacuum cleaner!" He thought about this happy coincidence for a minute, putting the pieces together. "I bring it tomorrow?"

"Bring it _here_?"

"Yes, yes! I bring my hoover and you fix it!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Doesn't suck."

"Look, you'd have to bring it by the shop."

"I don't know where shop is."

"Phibsborough." I repeated and pointed in the direction I was coming from.

"I bring it here." He insisted.

"Why can't you just bring it to the shop?" I asked, slightly agitated.

"I'd get lost. I'll bring it here."

"You can't bring it, I wouldn't have my tools anyways."

He smiled and nodded to me as if we were both in on some sort of secret. "I bring it here."

I grumbled. Foreigners are always idiots, especially this one. Judging by the loosely curled brown hair, tanned skin and poor fashion taste, I assumed a Spanish nation. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"_Spain_~" He said it poetically like the reminiscent name of a past lover. "Spain is my home."

"Why'd you leave? It wasn't to be a famous musician, I hope."

"No, no. I come here because it was time to change. Time to see new things, meet new people. What about you? You are not Irish, _I can tell_."

"Italian, God's chosen people."

"Why you come here?"

"A business deal. A buddy of mine was going to hook me up with a job in his family's printing business."

"And?"

"He's gone."

"Dead?" His face suddenly became that of concern.

"No. He fell through, his family disowned him, I got nothing."

"But now you are here! This is perfect!"

"How so?"

"I have a broken hoover and you _fix_ hoovers! It is fate!"

"It's not fate, it's coincidence but I don't suppose you know what that means."

"It means that many things have happened so that we would be right here right now. We are meant to meet!" He slid his guitar around so that it hung behind his back and jutted out a hand at me. "I'm called Antonio."

I shook it out of instinct. Normally, I would encourage such a stupid behavior.

"Your name?" He asked, not letting my hand free. Maybe they're all this overly friendly in Spain.

"Oh, uh, Lovino."

"Lovino…" He said, just to sound it out before releasing his grip. "We meet here tomorrow, I bring my hoover, okay?"

"I won't have my tools on me!"

He laughed and patted my arm in _old-pal_ sort of way. "You should go home right now. You have been drinking, no?"

"A few shots, it's none of your concern!"

"Go to your home, Lovino."

"Damn you. You just a fuck'n pain." Begrudgingly, I jammed my hand back into my pocket and shuffled onward, regretting my decision to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the first place. I was damn grateful to leave, I don't need more idiots in my life.

"Tomorrow!" He called behind me once I had reached the end of the street. I extended my middle finger and raised it high in the air. At least he had taken my mind off the call for a little while. As I made my way home, I had a feeling he'd find me tomorrow and from then on, I'd only see more and more of him. Regardless of if that was a good thing or not, I knew I didn't have a choice. Antonio was going to make himself a reoccurring figure in my life and I was going to have to deal with it. A drunken decision can lead to a five minute conversation and a five minute conversation can lead to a persistent asshole.

What I _didn't_ know was that a persistent asshole can, _under the right circumstances_, lead to something much more troubling.

I didn't get much sleep that night. My roommate, Matt, was being a fuck'n idiot. He said that he needed to sleep with a window open because he had a fever. I tried to close it when I thought he wouldn't be paying attention but every attempt I made at warming the house was foiled within ten minutes. September nights will bite you in the ass.

I was out of the house earlier than usual because I had to pick up groceries. We always run out of god damn toilet paper and Matt uses up all my batteries like he's trying to power a space shuttle or something. Before I left, I grabbed my CD player so I could be sure I got the right kind of batteries.

The paper predicted light showers for the day which had already begun to come down, making it a pain in the ass for me to crowd myself into a subway car with all the working ladies who try desperately to keep dry on the way to the office. At the store, I picked up a set of double a's and a frozen single-serving chicken chow main for breakfast. "How much?" I asked and plopped the merchandise down on the counter.

"Eleven." He responded flatly, pushing keys on the register. That woke me out of my sleepy haze almost immediately.

"Eleven euro!? You've got to be fuck'n mad!"

"Look, I didn't make the prices."

"It's mutany!"

"Do you want it or not?" The clerk demanded harshly.

"Fine, fine." I dug into my pocket, dishing out crumbled bills and coins onto the countertop. "I'm going to be fuck'n broke."

He counted out the change. "You're short. Ten cent."

"For Chrissake, _it's just ten cent_." That stiff, old, man was getting on my nerves like something awful. I'm no petunia but I try my best to contain myself.

"Your short." He repeated, annunciating each syllable perfectly.

I grumbled and rummaged through all of my pockets but found nothing. I'd just have to talk him down. Words will buy what money can't. "Look, I'm broke, kay? You understand, don't you?"

He held up the merchandise. "Pick."

"It's ten cent! You wouldn't make me drop one over ten cent!"

"If I took ten cent off every purchase, I'd be broke too."

"You're obviously not so just cut me some slack! What's ten cents anyways? It's sidewalk change!"

"_Pick_."

"It's only ten cents, ya' fuck'n crook!"

"Pick or leave."

Before I could open my mouth to spit back insults, a hand was brought down beside me and I heard the _clink_ of change hitting the counter top. I looked over. The hand was big and tan and badly calloused, protected by a dirty, fingerless, glove.

Fuck'n perfect. "Are you stalking me?" I growled at the familiar face who only smiled back and picked up his hand, revealing the little golden coin.

"Ten cent." He beamed. "You need ten cents?"

"Not from _you_."

"Oh, my mistake." He picked up the coin back up, tanuntingly.

"Wait, wait!"

He froze, grinning ear to ear like a god damn idiot. "You need ten cents?"

"_Yes_, I need ten cents."

"Okay~" He set it back down. The clerk looked at us like we were total wierdos but accepted the coin and completed my purchase none the less. I was handed a plastic bag, curtsy of the ridiculously pricey corner store.

"Can I use your microwave?" I asked, pulling out my Chinese food.

"Fourty cents."

"What!? I just paid you eleven euro! Doesn't that cover it?"

"Fourty cents." He repeated.

Antonio tugged on my arm, earning my attention. "I have microwave to own. Let's go."

"But this guy's a fuck'n crook! He's ripping me off!"

"Prices are prices and if you don't like them then you can get out." The clerk objected. Antonio took me out of there by force after lunged at the counter and swung at the cashier.

"Lovino." He said, trying to calm me down. "I will cook your food. All better, All fix."

"It's a fuck'n joke."

"Joke?"

"Everything's just fuck'n perfect, yeah? It's all fixed because you're so damn happy, yeah? Well, _fuck_, Antonio!" I kicked a cardboard box with frustration, sending it tumbling for a few yards.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I know what's wrong. Today is a bad day for you."

"Piss off, okay? I'm going home." I tucked my bag under my arm with frustration and began to walk when he stood in my way.

"No, no, no! I know what will make today a good day." He handed me a brochure out of his bag. "Island vacation! Rates have never been better!"

I looked at it and scoffed. "I can't afford a box of dehydrated vegetables much less some sandy-ass shack on a beach."

"Not a shack!" He pointed enthusiastically at the photo on the brochure where the water was electric blue and foaming up on the beach. Tall, thin, trees, stood tall like pillars, offering patches of shade over the white sand.

"Bull shit." It looked like the product of a frustrated nine-to-fiver's imagination. If you sat in a pasty cubical for eight hours, this is the image you would concoct to make reality seem a little less bitter. It doesn't actually exist, it's Photoshop in its finest hour. "Look, I don't need your brochure. Save it."

He stuffed it back into his faded messenger bag. "You want to go to my place, then? To make your food."

"Kay. I used to have one but it blew out."

He began to walk and I followed. "Blew out?"

"I had it running at the same time as the stove and it blew out the electricity. The building manager fixed electricity but the microwave never worked again."

"Mine works. The stove does not."

"What happened to it?"

"Self-cleaning setting. I tried it but it set itself on fire."

"Just like that? Spontaneous combustion?"

"No, I was listening to the radio outside and I didn't notice until the glass broke and flames came out."

"Jesus Christ! You could have sued the manufacturers or something!"

"No one got hurt. It was fine."

"You're so chill about everything. It could have lit your house on fire, then what?"

"Then I need a new house."

I grumbled to myself. "_Christ_."

"Are you getting wet?" He asked.

"Hm?No, it's just barely coming right down." I glanced up into the drizzling, gray sky.

"It rains much in Italy?"

"Not as much as it does here. Italy was very sunny."

"You want to go back?"

"Can't afford it."

"If you could afford, would you go?"

"Absolutely."

"You have family in Italy?"

"Just my brother."

"You have a brother? I do too! I have three brothers and two sisters."

"Geez! No wonder you wanted to move."

He laughed. "They are all good brothers. I do not leave because of them."

"You said something about meeting new people, right?"

"You remember!"

"Of course I remember! It was only yesterday when you said it."

"Yes but you only remember if you care."

"That's stupid."

"Do you remember the name of your toothpaste?"

I thought about it. "No but _nobody_ remembers stuff like that."

"At least I am more important than your toothpaste."

"But you're a stranger and I see my toothpaste every day."

"I'm not a stranger!" He seemed offended by this accusation.

"Yes you are! I've only just met you."

"But you know my name and we have met two times. People who are strangers do not know each other. We know each other. We are friends."

"We're not friends."

"Yes we are."

"No we're not."

"Yes, we're." He stopped walking in front of a music shop. "We stop here for a minute?"

"What for?"

"This is where my guitar is. Come on." He took my arm and pulled me in. He said hello to the clerk, who's name was Stewart, and asked if his guitar had been repaired.

"You just needed that new string, right?" The man smiled wide, like a thin Santa Clause.

"Right!"

"Yeah, I got to it last night." The old man scuttled off into the back room and retrieved the instrument, handing it to Antonio over the counter.

He strummed it a few times to be sure it was right. "Great! How much?"

"Free."

"Nothing is free." The boy found his wallet. It was nearly as empty as mine.

"Today is free. You've paid for enough broken strings, this one's on the house."

"For real!?"

He nodded.

"Amazing! You are amazing!" The wallet was stuffed back into his bag.

"It's nothing."

"I will tell all my friends!" He turned to me. "He is an amazing man. If you want a good instrument, buy from him. One hundred percent safe, rates have never been better."

"Fantastic." I answered unenthusiastically.

"Stewart, I can play for a while?"

"Sure."

"Do you play, Lovino?"

"Me? Oh, uh,no." That was lie. When I was younger, my father taught me violin but his fingers became old and brittle so we learned piano from then on. I've always loved the piano. When I came to Ireland, I left it behind and rarely played. I'm wasn't sure if my fingers even remembered the way the spidered along the keys or if I knew the tunes of my favorite pieces anymore.

Antonio turned back to Stewart with great excitement. "I can play in here for a while?"

"An hour. I've got someone coming in at ten to look at the baby grand."

Antonio shot out a quick thanks before telling me that he wanted to play for me and dragging me off into the main room where instruments and sheets of music littered the floor. I sat on a piano bench and he plopped down on an amp, strumming and tuning his guitar. "Name a song."

"I don't know."

"_Come on_!" He insisted.

"Whatever, I don't care!"

"Oh! How about this then?" His fingers began plucking furiously in the Spanish style. It took a moment for me to recognize the song.

"Is this…?"

"Reminds you of home, yes?"

"O sole mio! It's only the most Italian song ever. Only… you're doing it wrong."

"What? No I'm not." His playing slowed.

"Yes you are! Play that part again." He did. "Right there! That's a C right there." Instinctively, my hand found the right note on the piano and tapped it a few times. The keys were all too familiar, I could play blindfolded, upside down, backwards, whatever. All the keys were just how I left them, their placements etched into my brain.

He was excited by this little response. "You play?"

"No."

"But you play… I saw." He pointed out.

"Knowing where the C is isn't _playing_."

That big, stupid, smile returned to his face. "_You play_. I know, the music never lies to me."

"I don't even know what that means." I argued for the sake of disagreeing. I hated that he seemed to know everything and that stupid, giddy, conviction of his.

"Why won't you play?" He asked, his accent thick.

"I don't want to."

"You aren't afraid of the music, are you?"

"What? No!"

"Are the songs too sad? Why won't you play them?"

"I'm just tired."

"Tired people play the best."

"I said no, Antonio."

"Okay." He nodded and looked down at his guitar, quietly playing with the knobs and running his fingers over the frets until he felt like my frustration had washed over. "You play for me?"

"No."

"Come on, Lovi! I pay ten cent fee! In the store, I pay fee."

"I don't have a _fee_." I could feel my face redden and my anger begin to swell up.

"Play once, just _once,_ then I will not complain." I had a feeling that was a lie.

"Mind your own damn business!"

"Pleeease! I buy you lunch! At a café, just one song." He never gave up! I had never met such a persistent asshole. It was kind of hilarious though.

I thought about the proposal for a good long time. "Jesus Christ. You're serious about lunch, yeah?"

"I am!"

I'm not shy, definitely not. I just don't like to embarrass myself. I don't like all the humility and harassment that follows. I checked out Antonio twenty times over, trying to evaluate the character of the ratty-looking busker. Was it worth the meal? Antonio didn't give off the _cruel_ vibe but the world is a breeding ground for cruel people, how was I to know he wouldn't just end up like a god damn bastard? Yet, my fingers found position on the keys and music rose into the air, my instincts acting above my reason.

The melody was one I had written. Each note hit my heart with the meaning I had given it years ago. "_Scratching at the surface now…And I'm trying hard to work it out. So much has gone misunderstood…And this mystery only leads to doubt._" My voice didn't use to be to gravelly and hoarse, I guess I just yell too much.

I didn't bother to look over to Antonio, I consumed myself in the song. I wrote those words when I meant it the most, when I had been hurt bad enough that it had to come out in some way. Each pressing of my hand on a chords and each raspy word brought me back, sinking me into the memories that I had trapped away in those lyrics. _"And I couldn't understand…When you reached down to take my hand. And if you have something to say…you better say it now."_

The next part of the song ways my favorite because it was the truest. It was the part then engulfed me and let me say what I really wanted to. My hands slammed down hard and fast, pounding out music with fury and passion. I'm sure it surprised Antonio and Stewart but I didn't pay them any mind. _" 'Cause this is what you've waited for! A chance to even up the score! And as these shadows fall on me now, I will somehow!"_

I had never looked to music as an outlet, it just came to me as natural as air to my lungs. I felt like everything could be said better through the voice of each ivory key. My hands slipped between placements with fluidity, not thinking about what they were doing other than creating auditory emotions. I played out the rest of the song, my lips and fingers working in tandem. When I had finished, the emptiness was strangely unsettling.

Soft claps came from beside me. The boy smiled and continued to press his palms together weakly. Heat suddenly came over my cheeks when I realized what I had done. I _played_ in front of him! Worse yet, it was _that_ song. How stupid! I didn't even know the guy yet I was reenacting my life story to him through a song! It was almost too much! I was so embarrassed. I reached down and gripped well onto the handle of my supermarket bag so I could make a run for it if needed. "You wrote that?"

"Wha?" I mumbled, barely paying attention to him now.

"It's not an established song?"

"N-no, it's not an established song."

He smiled and nodded to himself. "Where are they?" He asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"Who?"

"The person you wrote this song for."

"Gone." I grumbled, a bit of fire trickling into my throat. I released the grip on my bag.

"Dead?"

"No! Why is that your first assumption every time?"

"You want them to be dead?"

"No! Chrissake, man! They're not dead, just gone."

"I bet, if you played this song, you'd get them back."

"Don't want them back."

"Why?"

"I just don't. I'm over it."

"Anyone who writes a song like that is not over it. I promise, you play that song, you get them back."

"I don't want them back. _They_ left _me_."

"Who is this stranger? What is the story?"

"It's not for you to be concerned with."

"Oh! I see! This person is a…um…_shit_…how do you say…_rompecorazones_?"

"I'll tell you the story another time." I picked up my bag and began to walk. I was followed by the soft hum of the guitar being picked up too quickly and in no time he was at my side again. "I'm sorry! Sorry!"

I mumbled a quick thanks to Stewart and left the shop. The rain was now coming down harder. The Spaniard struggled to keep up with me. "Wow, you walk fast, Lovi."

"Don't call me Lovi. Lovino or nothing."

"Alright. I like Lovino better anyways."

"Fantastic."

"Are you mad?"

"About what?" It wasn't a question, it was a threat.

"About back there. About the person that song was for."

"Yes."

"It's okay."

"What would you know?"

"I know that my wife never calls unless she needs money. I understand what that song means to you."

"You're married!?"

"I used to be. We were tired and poor and drunk so we filled out some papers and decided to someday move into the mountains where we would not be bothered. We argued and fought like dogs, it just didn't work with us so we agreed to be done and I came here to start new. Start over."

"You never got divorced or nothing?"

"No, she won't sign the papers. She still wants to work it out. She says that the sun will rise someday and my mind will change. I will wake up for my daydream and come back but I have my own life now. I can't go back, I don't want that. The child is not even mine."

"A child!?"

"He is not mine! I am sure! If I even _though_ he might be my son, I would be there with him!"

"Holy fuck! Who are you, exactly!?"

"I am a person who has made mistakes. I am human."

"But it's not your son, right? You're sure of that?"

"One hundred percent sure! She calls time from time though and tells me that he is and says that I need to send her money to support him."

"And you do?"

"Of course. She needs it. She is a single mother and Esteban is um… how do you say…_autista_?"

"Autistic?"

"Yes! The boy is autistic. She needs money, they need help."

"But if you really want to cut ties, shouldn't you just stop communication all together?"

"We are still friends and besides, I want Esteban to feel like he has a male role model in his life, at least a little bit. I don't want him to feel like I abandoned him and his mother."

"Do you still love her?"

"No…I don't." He glanced up at the decending rain, recalling happy memories of the woman. " Like I said, I am a new Antonio. I just hold ties back to that life."

"So…do write songs about her?"

"All the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was a big part of my life, y'know? There are a lot of things to say. You write songs about that person too, yes?"

"Yeah. Not any that don't involve shouting though."

"Ah, I see. It still hurts?"

"I wish it didn't."

"Give it time. When you find other people to care about, the old ones will matter less."

"Well, that's good I guess."

"We're here."

"Hm?"

"This is the building. I live in a room in here. Actually, there are a few rooms that I live in. Like a small house-"

"_Apartment_. The word you're looking for is apartment."

"Right. Apartment." He held open the door. "You come in?"

"Sure."

Antonio said hello to the group playing cards in the lobby who, I assume, were hoodlums and criminals. They greeted him in return as we began to climb the stairs. Surrounding us were an odd collection of noises that echoed into the stairwell from the rooms on the other side of the wall. Babies cried, hovers growled, people yelled curses back and forth in a battle of vulgarity. Finally we reached his door: 450. The metal zero had fallen off or been stolen and was replaced by a sharpied trace over the shadow of the missing number. He opened the door and introduced me to his family.

Alonso was the oldest. He sat on the couch with his girl, Moddy. He waved at me and flashed a weak smile before going back to watching the futbol game and sipping his beer. Moddy was uninterested. She quickly fixed her hair and greeted me then followed Alonso's lead of ignoring me. Then there was the youngest brother, Lorenzo, who was quite the character. He wore spikey, bleached, hair and a tight-fitting shirt as well as sweatbands over every sweaty area of his body. I felt nauseous. "Oh, wow! Toni-Boy doesn't bring people home. You must be something special." He forced his hand into mine and shook the hell out of it.

Antonio smacked his brother's head in annoyance. "Ya basta! Le estás avergonzando!" (Knock it off! You're embarrassing him!)

Lorenzo instantly turned defensive. "El está bien! Te preocupas demasiado a menudo!" (He's fine! You worry too much!)

"No asustar a mi invitado!" (Don't scare away my guest!)

I thought to mention that I could understand them, being a fluent Italian-speaker myself but instead, I let them rattle on in interest of seeing how the two interacted. "Por qué estás tan irritado? Relajarse, Mano!" (Why are you so irritated? Relax, Bro!) The younger objected.

"Mantenga una mano en los otros, Aprobado? Yo sé que ustedes son lo general muy _acogedor_ con invitados. Hoy no. Hoy ,usted se comporta." (Hold one hand in the other, alright? I know that you're generally very _cosy_ with guests. Not today. Today, you behave.)

"Si, Por supuesto!" (Yes, of course!).

The two brothers exchanged a somewhat violent hug and then gave their attention back to me. "Dónde está el microondas?"( Where is the microwave?) I asked, holding up my Chinese food.

Antonio became flustered at realizing that his whole conversation had gone without secrecy. "It's uh…back in the kitchen. Over here, I'll show you." He walked me the three paces it took to get to their tiny kitchen. It was barely a refrigerator, a microwave, three drawers, a sink and a blackened oven with duct-tape used to solidify the gaping hole where the door of it ought to be. He prepared the meal for me and took out a piece of bread for himself.

"You're not going to cook that or nothing?" I asked as we sat across the table from each other. I scooped another heap of chow mein into my mouth.

"Not machine for cooked bread." He nodded towards the toaster-lacking kitchen.

"You could…I dunno, put jam on it or something."

"It's Alonso's turn to buy groceries. He is fat and lazy." He made it a point to say that last part loudly. "Maybe we will all starve to death by next week."

"It's not my fault that my family eats like swine." He called back from his seat on the couch.

Antonio laughed to himself then ushered me to take off my jacket. "I have to go to work pretty soon. I'm not staying long."

"Work fixing hoovers?" He asked.

"What's a _hoover_?" Lorenzo questioned.

"A vacuum cleaner. Y'know,_ vrrrooooo_." I explained.

"Oh! Antonio! Tell your friend that _we_ have a broken hoover!"

Antonio suddenly remembered. "Lovino! You can fix our hoover!"

"No shit." I spat sarcastically. "I'll take it with me when I leave, if you want."

"Fantastic! When should I pick up?"

"Uh, I dunno. I'll get it done before nine probably."

"Nine o-clock. Got it! I will be there for sure!"

"You want me to get the hoover?" Lorenzo asked with almost as much enthusiasm as his brother.

"Sure, whatever."

He jumped off the kitchen counter where he had been previously sitting and went to wrestle the piece of machinery out of their cluttered closet. It was old. She was probably a nineteen forties model, a fire extinguisher with a hose and a handle. "How much to fix?" He asked, showing her off proudly.

"One million euro." I answered flatly and went back to scraping at the insides of my cardboard box.

"Wait…Seriously!?" Antonio just about choked on his bread.

"I'm Italian, I'm always serious." I didn't even look up from my food.

"Cut me a break, Lovi!"

"Hey! It's _Lovino_!"

"Yes, of course! _Lovino_, I can't afford that!"

"He's pulling your chain." Moddy chimed in. "I worked for Italian once. The guy couldn't even keep a straight face."

"Well maybe he's from Sicily or something. A true Italian never jokes about money." I corrected.

Alfonso finally turned around to give his attention to the topic on hand. "I will trade you Antonio for the vacuum."

Lorenzo broke out into laughter. "Yeah right! You'd _owe_ him to take Tony-Boy!"

"Hey!" Antonio cried. "You guys are terrible! Maybe I _will_ run away!"

"Good." The oldest turned back to the game. "That would be saving me money on all the food you eat."

"I don't eat a lot!" He objected.

"He's got a point. You're are getting fat." Lorenzo happily joined the teasing.

"Not!" He pulled up his shirt, making a display of his flat stomach. "I am starving!"

"I didn't know Toni was preggers." Moddy chuckled.

His face became red with frustration as he pulled his shirt back down. "Let's go, Lovino. I will carry the hoover to the shop." He shoved the rest of the bread in his mouth and lifted said piece of shit before dragging me out of the room and down the stairs. "I'm sorry about them. My family is…well… they are my family." He sighed.

"It's fine. I have a brother, too. He gets on my nerves all the time."

"Yeah? What's he like?"

I groaned."Perfect." Honestly, no word suited him better.

"Nobody is perfect."

"There's always one. Everybody loves him. Literally, _everybody_."

"You have lucky parents. Everybody hopes that their children will grow up successful."

"No, it's not like that. It's just _him_. He could kill someone and everyone would blame it on the guy for having an ugly face. I mean, I'm already unlikable but having someone like that to shadow over you only makes it worse."

"I don't know if I understand. You're unlikable?"

"Come on, even a dumb shit like _you_ knows that."

"I don't think you're unlikable. I like you very much."

"That's what they all say. I don't need pity, okay? I _know_ what I am, I'm not desperate for someone to pat my head and give me a biscuit."

"Of course not. You are a human, not a dog."

"That's not what I meant. Just… whatever. I don't need you to make me feel better or anything."

"I can see that."

We walked in silence for a while until it was finally tearing at me to ask. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"What you just said. I said I didn't need your pity then you were all like_, I can see that_."

"Oh. I just meant that I know you don't need pity. You're not a child. You can take care of yourself. Pity is for things that are helpless."

"_Thank you!_" I exasperated. "I've been saying that for years!"

"But you _do_ need attention."

"Wha?"

"You weren't love enough as a child. That makes an adult who can't accept love. Sad baby, sad adult."

"What the fuck does that mean!?"

"It means we'll work on it. You can still be cured."

"This is going to become something really stupid, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

I sighed and continued to trudge on. "You're such an idiot."

He laughed. "I like you better than your brother."

"You don't even _know_ him."

"No, but I have a feeling that you wanted me to say that. Besides, I'm sure it's true."

"Probably not. He's your type. Dumb…and happy…and always joking around." I uncomfortably adjusted my scarf. "You two would get along perfectly."

"That's not my type."

"No?"

"No. Opposites attract, yes? You've heard that phrase before?"

"Of course I have, I'm not stupid."

"Well, it's true. Everybody has things they hate about themselves so if you get two identical people together, they'll hate each other. Worse yet, they'll be too stubborn to submit. Get opposites together and all the gaps are filled in. They are complete. One side has Yin…" He formed his hand into the shape of a crescent moon. "And the other has Yang." He gently took my hand and formed it to match, pressing them together.

My cheeks became burning red and I ripped my wrist out of his grasp. "_Idiot_." I grumbled and took off in a furious speed walk.

"Whoa! Lovino! So fast!" Had to sprint for a moment to catch up to me.

"The shop is right down here."

"Really!? Wow, I live pretty close to it, I guess."

He always did that. he always took a weird situation and just pasted words on top of it to make it all better. "Yeah. You do."

"How long have you worked there?"

" 'Round four years or so."

"Why don't you try other jobs?"

"Because Lovino Vargas _**does not**_ clean houses."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have a lot of options. I don't really have, y'know, _people skills_. I can do this, make dirty videos, or clean houses. My pride leaves me only one option. I'm a hoover repair man."

"I see."

"What about you? You're not going to pass out brochures forever, are you?"

"I'd like to make music. I want to make a CD someday."

"Really?"

"Yes. I've put all of my life stories into lyrics, I want to share that with everyone else. In a real studio with a real band."

"And why don't you?"

"I don't know. I guess I just never got my foot in the door."

"Then _why don't you_? Unless you want to be poor and smelly for the rest of your life."

"I'm not smelly, am I?"

"A little bit but that's not what we're talking about. Point is, it really only takes a weekend in a studio. It's not impossible."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Banks."

"I don't have a band."

"I'm sure your brothers can smack drums and shake tambourines. The only thing that's holding your back is lack of effort. I'm tired of lazy-ass-bums always complaining about taxes and shit. If you don't try, then it can't possibly happen, yeah?"

"You really think I could do it?"

"Sure. I'll go with you to the bank, seeing as you can probably use that dumb foreigner appeal to get yourself a good deal."

"You'll come with me!?"

"Yeah, whatever. I don't have anything going on tomorrow anyways."

"That's amazing! You'll play the piano!"

"What!?"

"It's perfect! You can play and sing with us!"

"O never said that!"

"It's only one weekend, yes? We _need_ you! You make the band!"

"The answer is no." I heaved open the door to the shop and strode in, trying not to make eye contact with the recently-inspired Spaniard.

"Pleeeaaase! Lovino!" He whined.

"Please what?" asked from the front counter of our cluttered, little, shop.

"He wants me to join a stupid band." I lazily tossed my jacket and CD player onto a chair before going into the back room to find my tools.

"You play?" asked, barely following the conversation. Antonio happily shook the man's hand.

"He does and he is amazing. Hello, I'm Antonio."

"Bart Phillip." He greeted in return.

I came out of the back room, tying my workshop apron around my waist and sending a glare at the foreigner. "You can leave now."

"Bart, tell him he's crazy! He came up with a brilliant plan that will make my dreams come true then he is…he is…" He wracked his brain for a moment, trying to come up with the right phrase. "A cat on hot bricks!"

"What?"

"It's an idiom. He's trying to say that I'm stubborn, like a cat who won't give up its spot on a wall."

"Exactly! He's being stubborn! He is backing out!"

Bart looked to me, his long, old, face causing his glasses to slide down his nose just a millimeter a minute. "Why is this, Lovino?"

I was frustrated that was actually siding with Antonio. "Well…because I'm busy!"

"Doing what?" He countered.

I lifted up Antonio's thousand-pound vacuum. "Fixing other people's shit!" I plopped it down loudly on the counter before laying out my tools.

"Is that really what you're worried about?"

"I've got to keep a job now, haven't I?"

"You could take a weekend off. You have loads of vacation time that you haven't used."

"Can't." I angrily jammed my screwdriver into the belly of the machine. "You can't do this all on your own."

"God forbid we get a customer. I've been doing this for twenty-eight years. You think I really can't cover two or three measly days? What's the real reason?"

"I dunno. Maybe I have plans that you don't know about."

"Lovino, unless you're going out of town with me or Matt, I can assure you that you have no other plans." It's true that I only have two _quote-on-quote _friends.

"Why won't you do it, Lovino?" Antonio joined back into the argument.

"Because I have a terminal illness. If I play in a band, I'll die."

"That is not true! And it's not even really band if we break up after a weekend."

"If I say I'll think about it, will you leave?"

"Yes!"

"I'll think about it. Now scram."

"Okay, okay!" He made his way to the door and opened it. "I'll pick you up at nine for drinks!"

"I never agreed to that!"

"See you then! Good bye!" He slipped out of the shop and the bells hanging in the door frame confirmed that he was gone. I turned my aggression to my boss.

"You're only encouraging him."

The old man smiled and smacked my arm in a friendly way. "He's a keeper." With that, he disappeared into the back room. I decided to ignore that comment and went back to dissecting and repairing the hoover, something that would keep me busy until nine.

Before I knew it, the bells were chiming again and a curly head bobbed over to the counter. "Wow! She looks beautiful!"

I removed my gloves and pushed my bangs away from my face. "Yeah, well she should suck up things now."

"That's exactly what I wanted!"

"I must be a mind reader then."

"It's perfect! How much?"

I called out of the back room and asked him about the price. He responded "Free". What's everybody's deal with giving that guy free things!? I just spent _nine hours_ cleaning off toothpick-sized pieces of machinery! Does that mean _nothing_!? I was under the impression that I had a _job_!

"This thing is vintage! And, before I got at it, the wheels were the only working parts! It's forty euro!"

"Lovino! Mind yourself, won't you?" He gave me a gesture that said he wanted to see me in the back room this instant.

Are you kidding!? I gave the loudest, angriest, sigh I could manage and stalked into the back room where he was waiting for me. "What the fuck is this all about?" I hissed.

"That man out there may very well be the only true friend you've got."

"Who says! I barely even know him! And what right do you have to say who is and isn't my friend!?"

"How long have you known him?"

"_Two days_."

"Yet, he's done more for you than I ever saw _you-know-who_ do."

"Don't start that! This isn't about _you-know-who_!"

"Just think about it, Lovino! Friendships are about sacrifice. He gives up for you, time for you to show some kindness in return."

"Bullshit! He's just a pain in my ass. My act of kindness is tolerating it!"

"Go out there and give him half price."

"But-!"

"I own this shop, that's an order."

"But I worked so hard on it! You should have seen how it was before!"

"I'll reimburse you the slack, okay? Now go."

I mumbled a curse under my breath and shuffled back out to Antonio. "Twenty euro."

He happily fiddled around in his wallet before laying his money down on the counter. I stared down at the bills. "Can't fuck'n count?" There were an extra ten euro spread out before me.

He winked. "I always tip."

"Oh…uh…okay." I jammed the bill into my pocket. "Thanks." My anger had dissipated quite a bit and I even felt a little bad now that he had done something else nice for me. I quickly talked myself out of it, reasoning that he was just a customer and it's his _responsibility_ to tip.

"We go get drinks now?"

"What about the vacuum?"

"I have a place for it on my bike."

I picked up my jacket from its place on the chair. "Yeah? What kind of bike?"

"Harley. Faster than train."

I suddenly realized that I couldn't find my CD player. It wasn't under my jacket. I tried shaking out my coat on the rare chance that it had gotten stuck somewhere but still nothing. I ducked under the chair. "What are you looking for?" Antonio asked.

"My CD player."

"You left it at my house."

"No I didn't. I brought it here, I know I did. I set it down."

"You are mistaken. You left it in the kitchen."

"No I didn't!"

"I'm sure you just forgot it. It's no big deal." Burt offered, cluing me into his involvement in its disappearance.

"You took it, didn't you?"

"Me? What? No."

"Yes you did!" I remembered the Spaniard standing on my left. "And you gave it to him! You traitor!" At that point, I already had it all figured out. Burt knew what was in it, a CD I had made. I sat down once and played all my favorite songs, even some of my own, and put them on that CD so I wouldn't have to buy ten different discs. He knew it and he gave it to Antonio! This was about the whole band business! "You're a traitor, Burt!"

"I did it for your own good. I knew you wouldn't do it on your own." The old man crossed his arms and walked into the back room.

"Because I don't _want_ people to hear that! It's an invasion of my privacy!" I called after him.

"Lovino! Calm down! I thought it was amazing! True talent!"

"It's wasn't for you to hear!"

"I'm sorry! B-but… we need you! I talked to my family, they'll do it if you do!"

"You played it for them!?"

"I couldn't help myself! I was amazed!"

"God dammit, Antonio!"

"You play the piano better than anyone I've ever heard! So much passion!"

I roughly pulled my jacket on. "Just give the damn thing back."

"I will! Of course! Just give me tonight!"

"For what? Do you plan on robbing my entire house?"

"No! Give me tonight to convince you! Go out for drinks with me, listen to what I have to say. If the answer is still no by tomorrow, we'll forget it all."

"Why would I want to listen to your whiney ass for a whole night?"

"Because we can do it! I know we can! We will sound amazing! We will make the best music you've ever heard!"

"No thanks."

"Come on, please! Are you afraid of free alcohol?"

"No, I'm afraid of drunken promises and a dizzy night."

"I promise, nothing bad will happen. You have nothing to lose, just a little time."

"And my dignity. Look, it's my goal to stay out anything that would draw attention to myself. I don't have people skills, remember?"

"Nobody would say bad things about you! They would say how good your music is!"

"It's not my thing." I wrapped my scarf around my neck, preparing to leave. He stepped in front of my way.

"Just one night. Free drinks, some chit-chat."

"Okay, look here." I waited until he gave me his total, undivided, attention. "What if I give you three hours?"

"Sounds perfect!"

"But there are conditions! I'm out of there at midnight. If I can leave with all my wits about me and you've failed on this whole revelation of yours, then you'll go back to being a smelly busker and I'll go back to fixing hoovers. That's it. No more dirty mind games and persistent nagging for shit."

His smile turned flat. "Not friends?"

"Nope. Just a foreigner, a guitar, and a pessimist."

"You cannot be serious!"

"I'm Italian, I'm always serious. I don't play games, Antonio."

"But that's-"

"What's the verdict?"

"Wait so…I can choose drinks, and you might leave and we might become better friends. Or… I can choose no drinks and let us always be like this…"

"Come on, I gotta get going if I'm going to catch the bus."

He went into deep thought before finally declaring drinks with a confident tone. "Yeah?" I asked.

"Yes. You must play before you win, right?"

"Yeah, I've heard it said that way."

"We go now?"

"It's all the same to me."

He put the hoover in a compartment on the bike and we took off. We went to my favorite pub. I knew the people there well, better than I knew my own neighbors. It was an old place with red and white checkered flooring and wooden shelves full of bottles. It was homey. I liked it better than any of the modern bars where they play pop music and keep their lights low.

I sat in my spot and called over Johnson, the bartender. I wasn't sure if Johnson was his first or last name but it was the only name anybody had ever called him so I figured it must be both. "Good see'n you, Bub." Also, he can't remember anyone's name for shit so he calls them all Bub. "What can I get you?"

"Scotch."

"And for you, Mr?" He turned to the foreign-looking newbie.

"Oh, uh… scotch."

"You're practically twins." He chuckled to himself and went to prepare the drinks.

"Is scotch good?" Antonio asked.

"I dunno, I guess."

"You don't know?"

"Taste doesn't matter when you're drunk."

When Johnson came back with the drinks, it was made clear that Toni had never sipped hard liquor in his life. By the time I had cleaned two mugs, he was half way done with his first. "Oh, the wee lamb." I taunted.

"I don't know how you do it!"

"Practice. I drink instead of dealing with all that emotional shit."

"That can't be good for you."

"Can't win 'em all."

"So, who is it?"

"Who?"

"The person you drink for. The one in the songs."

"My ex."

"Who were they?"

I took another hard swig out of my mug. "No good. I'm not drunk enough to talk about that yet." I called for my mug to be refilled.

We went about drinking for a while longer and talked about the whole band idea. He said that his family would do it if he could talk me into joining and that all of his dreams would come true. He tried flattery and pressure and pure absurdity.

"Your songs really are wonderful."

"That's a lie. They're all filled with hate and regret."

"That's what makes them good! They have so much meaning! So pure!"

"Meaning? Really? Fuck off."

"They really are!"

"You know why I write those songs?" He shook his head. "You wanna know why, come Sunday, I'm kissing the bottle again and come Monday, I'm screaming at a piano? Here, come on. I have a story to tell you." I led him off to a little dusty piano in a corner of the bar. "This is a little number I like to call my life.

I readied my hands. I was only half drunk, maybe less. The keys were a little hazy and boring to look at so instead, I gave my dizzy smile to Antonio who was waiting beside me. "_Ten years ago I fell in love with an Irish fool who broke my heart. That fool went and screwed some guy that they knew and now I'm in Dublin with a broken heart._" The tune picked up a happy little spring, curtsy of my sarcastic humor. "_Oh broken-hearted-hover-fixer-sucker-guy. Oh broken-hearted-hoover-fixer-sucker, sucker-guy! Someday I'll go and kick some ass again but till then I'm just a sucker of a guy_."

A few people clapped lamely once I had finished and when I returned to the bar, I had received a drink from an anonymous donation. "So that's it." I told Antonio, boredly drying the condensation off my glass.

"That's terrible."

"Nah, doesn't even hurt."

"That's because you're drunk."

"You're right about that." I took a chug, drowning myself further into drunken bliss.

"Maybe you should stop drinking. You'll get sick."

"If I'm lucky."

He sighed and called over Johnson then whispered into his ear, probably telling him to bring me sour water next time I called for a drink. "So you don't want them back?"

"Nope."

"Is the ex still with the guy?"

"No, it was a one-time thing. Must have been bored with me."

"I don't see why."

"Jesus, Antonio. Just stop saying things like that."

"Like what?"

"Like what you just said. Sappy shit that absolutely nobody but you would agree with."

"I think people overlook you. They stop at the first impression."

" 'Cause they don't need to look any farther. Look at me. I'm a drunken bum without a penny to his name who spends his days fixing hoovers and complaining about his ex."

"You're not just that."

"You're right. I'm also drunk. Oh, wait, I think I already said that."

"Well, you _are_ drunk… but also good things." He lifted the drink away from my lips just as I went in for another chug and sat it closer to himself. "Your also a very nifty repair man."

"Thank god for that." I grumbled as he pushed my haphazard bangs away from my eyes, trying to clean me up which was useful, seeing as I had now lost all interest in personal hygiene.

"Your also very good on the piano. You write nice songs and you sing them well."

"Sure." He flipped my collar back down so I didn't look like a teenage rebel anymore.

"And you are kind, despite your attempts not to be."

"Yup." I lazily answered back, not thinking much about words anymore.

"And you are amazingly skilled at hiding just how special you are."

"Special?"

"Special. I don't think that I have ever met anyone like you. You are your own kind of person, difficult but exciting." He handed me his glass of cold water, which was softer on the throat than scotch.

"You ever been drunk before?"

"Once. I don't really like alcohol, too bitter."

"What was the occasion?"

"I was in America with my friend, we were gambling and drinking-"

"She was…"

"Yeah, she was that one. That's when we decided to get married. In the city we went to, there was a church were complete strangers were getting married. We though, hey, we could do that. After all, we were close friends. If we got married, we could move far away and live out our ridiculous dreams like a fairytale. Turns out, it doesn't work like that."

"When did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That you didn't want to be married to her anymore."

"I saw a play. My friend got a role in it, he let me come for free. In the play, there were these two people, two complete strangers, who had only known each other for a few days but they right away that they loved each other very much. I realized that it wasn't like that with her. I liked her, I even loved her but she was my friend. I didn't know what it was like to feel such a uh… _spontaneous_ connection to somebody. That's what I wanted, that's why I left."

"You won't find it here. You're wasting your time in Dublin, all you'll get is ripped off by convenience stores and beaten down by the debt collectors." For a second, I thought I heard him answer me in a small whisper but I must have been imagining things.

"What about you? Did you have somebody after that one?" He took the glass from my hand when I held it out and set it back down.

I shook my head. "No, I don't need it. I don't go _trying_ to get myself hurt, I can do that on my own."

"Did it really hurt that bad?"

"I didn't think it would and it didn't at the beginning but… it always comes back. I always get calls."

"What about?"

"Just the usual. I'm sorry, I miss you, it's nice and sunny out here, I wish you'd visit, maybe we can work this out, we just need to talk."

"Do you want to work it out?"

"Sometimes I think about it… then I change my mind. It was good in the beginning and then… we just don't know each other. I don't want it, not at all."

"What _do_ you want?"

"To find my way out of here, I guess. I'd like to find a real job, maybe go back to Italy and stop drinking so much."

"Do you ever think about finding somebody new?"

I shook my head. "One and done, that's my motto."

"Really? You can't know everything about love after having one relationship."

"I think it's better like that. The more you know, the more you have to lose."

"The more you gain."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe you'll understand it later."

"Whatever." I plopped my tired head down on my arm.

"Hey! No sleeping! We have to discuss band stuff! I've got another hour to convince!"

"Alright, fine, shoot."

He spurted nonsense about being in a band for a good long time and I watched him with my head on the table. He spoke with such enthusiasm and conviction that I couldn't help but watch his face. He had a happy talent for taking words and bending them into little bits of his own soul. I watched his lips move, shaping and morphing but never breaking from his tell-tale smile. His eyes were even more amazing. They spoke, silently laying meaning atop each word. They shone in a way that touched you deep down where you're most pliable, forcing you to stare deeper and deeper into them. He was intoxicating, even more so than the liquor.

He had a face that would leave an impression on you. Even if you just passed by him once and met his eyes, you'd remember that face. It would always be in the back of your head and you would wonder if that was a real person or maybe a picture you had seen once. You'd think back to childhood friends and other warm memories, trying to put a name to the face but always end up a thread short.

He had a laughing voice. It's hard to describe, it really is. It's a voice that sounds like it's just been laughing real hard at a real good joke and you wish you knew what that joke was because it's god damn infectious. It's a settling tone, the kind that a mother uses to lull a baby but also the kind that a lover uses to lull a lover. It knew things, it never waver or sounded unsure. It's not a voice you could put on the radio or a TV commercial, you just have to keep it with you in your memory and think about the warm, sun-kissed, exuberant man that it lives with.

"So how about it?" Just then, I realized that I hadn't heard a word of the past hour.

"About what?"

"Singing with me. In the studio…" I glanced back up at his face, those desperate eyes capturing my gaze and holding it tight. He spoke to me, right then and there, without saying a single word.

Something came over me, forcing my heart to quicken and my lips to move. "Sure, why not?" The words were slight and weak but I said them and meant them.

There was celebration on his part but I more focused on closing my eyes. What's funny is, all my whole life, I'd never been anything special. There wasn't a part of me that was any more special than another. All that changed was, I'd met somebody who makes me feel just maybe a little bit…I dunno…_special_.

I blocked out the sounds of the bar and let myself sink further and further into unconsciousness. In my head, words began sifting through the clutter, forming into verses then lyrics then eventually little knotted together parts of a song. It would go, _I don't know you but I want you all the more for that… _Then the world faded away and my mind went numb.

Thank you for reading Act 1 of strangers! This is based off the independent film and Broadway musical, Once. What follows is a list of songs I used, derived from the actual musical:

Lovino's music shop song: Say it to me now.

Lovino's bar song: Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy.

Lovino's last song: Falling Slowly.


End file.
